


Ingrained

by neevebrody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is so freaking cool," Rodney cried, turning his arms over in front of him and looking down at his chest.  "Sheppard?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ingrained

**Author's Note:**

> Writing on Skin

"This is it," Rodney said, pointing to the doorway then barging right in.

"Damn it, McKay," John called. "I told you to wait on me." Rodney had been a little slow to recover from the effects of his overdose of the Wraith enzyme and one of the unfortunate side effects was even more nervous energy and a certain daring that he hadn't possessed before. Carson said it would be over soon and John was going to be very grateful to have the old Rodney back. This playing nursemaid to a whirlwind was tiring. He was definitely requesting downtime when this was finally over. Camping on the mainland, Athosian ale, sleeping under the…

At first glance, the room seemed like any number of labs they'd found in the outlying sections of Atlantis. The standard large console stood in the middle of the room and there McKay was, already messing with the controls. "Rodney, shouldn't you—" The room suddenly burst into life, bathing everything in an eerie blue-green glow from the huge holographic screen floating in mid air. "McKay!"

"Will you relax. I've done my homework. The database says this is a medscan lab, but…"

"And you don't believe that?"

"No. If it's a med lab, why isn't it near the infirmary with all the others?

John shrugged.

"See, that's what piqued my interest," Rodney continued. "A scanning lab for what, exactly?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmm, not sure," he replied, and continued to clip a set of connectors from his laptop onto two of the crystals on the console. A cone of white light appeared above the small bench nearby. "Huh." He looked over at John; fingers poised on the keyboard and cocked his head.

John blinked. "What? You want me to sit down?"

"No. I want you to prove Riemann's Hypothesis… of course, I want you to sit. Is there a problem?" Rodney barely took a breath between thoughts. John rolled his eyes. Normal Rodney-speak was bad enough, but enzyme-induced, rapid-fire snark was getting old real fast.

He sidled over to the bench, clipped his P90 onto his vest, and took a seat.

No immediate pain or disorientation. No weird beams or sparks or shooting fire, that was always a plus. He watched Rodney fiddle with the crystals, brows furrowed, fingers flying over his keyboard.

"You're not doing something right," he said, looking at the monitor.

"Rodney, I'm sitting. Not a whole lot of ways I can—"

"Yes, I understand, but the scan isn't working. It's not sending data or…" he moved over and put his hand on John's shoulder, "…maybe if you, oh my god…"

John followed Rodney's stare to where his hand rested. "Damn." Like tiny blue veins, symbols covered Rodney's skin. John looked up into Rodney's wide eyes as Rodney pulled his hand back. They symbols disappeared.

"What is it?"

"Get up," Rodney ordered, unbuttoning his shirt.

John stood. He swallowed hard when Rodney pulled the gray tee shirt over his head and sat down on the bench.

"This is so freaking cool," Rodney cried, turning his arms over in front of him and looking down at his chest. "Sheppard?"

He slowly looked away from Rodney's bare skin to meet Rodney's eyes.

"It's Wraith," he said. He turned around, showing John his back. "There, too?"

John nodded and cleared his throat. "What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure. I'll need a mirror or something to see where to begin and determine the structure." When he stood up and left the cone of light, just a faint outline of the writing remained. Rodney didn't put his shirt back on right away and John tried not to stare, though he still missed most of what Rodney was saying. "…have something to do with the enzyme." He turned to John, face lit up like a kid on Christmas. "Some sort of code in the Wraith DNA? Their secret? We might find something here to explain their need to feed. Why else would the Ancients have had this device? And now I know why this lab is stuck off by itself."

John took a step closer. "Rodney slow down, we need—"

"No, no, no… can't slow down. I'm already days into detox. Pretty soon there won't be enough of the enzyme left to elicit a response." He disconnected the laptop, grabbed his shirts and then turned to John. "Well, you coming? We need to tell Elizabeth right away."

~~~~

They sat in the mess for lunch, Rodney poring over files on Wraith language structure and syntax. Files Elizabeth had given him along with her blessing to proceed with his investigation. Watching Rodney, John thought of the symbols, blue and spidery against the creamy skin, the breadth of Rodney's shoulders, and the way the light brown hair grew in a triangle on Rodney's chest.

He looked at the set of permanent markers Rodney had laid out on the table, then at Rodney, and then got up to get another cup of coffee.

~~~~

"Are you sure about this?" John asked, removing the cap on one of the fine-point markers.

"What? Yes. If we don't get this down in some sort of stable form, we could lose one of the biggest discoveries in the galaxy. Just—"

"Or the Wraith's skin care secrets," John mused. "Or their formula for hair relaxer."

Rodney glared at him. "Well, we won't know that until we translate it now, will we? Honestly, why are you so resistant? A mirror isn't practical. This way, the high-res cameras can record all the strokes – some of the symbols were a little weak under the scan." Rodney laid his tee shirt on the console and stretched out on the bench face up.

The stool at the console was too tall, so John had to sit on the bench as well. "Where do I start, McKay?"

"Doesn't matter, you're going to trace over everything. We'll figure out where to start when we have the pic—"

"But Rodney, that'll take—"

Rodney raised his head and narrowed his eyes. "Colonel, this may be our ticket to finally destroying the Wraith and their threat. I think it's worth a few hours out of your day."

John sighed and started with Rodney's left arm.

They were quiet as John traced the symbols. The more he looked at them, he was convinced it wasn't just a fluke – the structure and repetition of some of the symbols had to mean something. He wished he knew even a little Wraith. Anything to distract him from what he was doing. Rodney's skin was warm to the touch and when he moved, the play of muscles felt good beneath John's hand. Too good.

After completing both arms, John began on Rodney's chest. Starting at the left collarbone, he moved left to right. Some of the symbols required a steadier hand and more tracing than others. Rodney had been so quiet, John expected snoring any minute and that's when he made the mistake of looking up. His hand faltered as he met Rodney's gaze, causing him to drag the tip of the marker past the outline. "Dammit, sorry," he mumbled, feeling his cheeks burn.

Rodney didn't say anything and John went back to concentrating on his work. Well, that and Rodney's skin. Smooth and soft, it smelled of soap with just a tang of sweat and a spiciness he couldn't place. Rodney flinched and John realized he was tracing on the pale, sensitive skin just below Rodney's armpit.

"Ticklish," Rodney said, and John was going to apologize again, but the way Rodney smiled and said, "Slower," made something squirm in John's chest.

"Uh, maybe we just need a break," he offered. Right, a break to get his hard-on in check. He started to get up, but Rodney grabbed him.

"We can't. Look." Rodney nodded to his stomach. "It's beginning to fade and you still have the back side to do, not to mention my legs."

He was so not prepared for that. Chewing his bottom lip, John took a deep breath and pressed on.

At one difficult spot on Rodney's stomach, he had to pull the skin taut to trace the intricate lines. Rodney hissed as John's fingers slid over one of his nipples. It was hard, pebbled into a tiny nub and, Jesus Christ, John could almost feel it on his tongue. He thought of rolling it between his teeth; wondered what kind of sound Rodney would make then… and wrote past the outline again.

~~~~

John was able to move faster on the broader canvas of Rodney's back. The skin was smoother there and took the ink much better. The symbols were more intricate there as well and soon John realized that he was comfortably bent over Rodney, their bodies practically touching. It must have been the combined body heat that stirred more of Rodney's scent, more sweat now and something he immediately recognized but tried to ignore.

He tried, instead, to focus on the symbols, but he was working now at the small of the back and it was impossible to miss every move Rodney made: when he twisted to ask John a question or when he crossed his arms above his head making a pillow of his hands.

"You've slowed down," Rodney said. John barely heard him. John was looking up over the expanse of skin that broadened as it rose from where John held the marker – poised, shaking. Under the light from the scanner, the ink varied, light and dark with the turn of Rodney's skin. It was oddly beautiful and oddly arousing.

John's chest tightened to match his pants. Rodney turned and looked over his shoulder. "Colonel?"

When John looked up, he could barely focus, bleary-eyed from the tracing. "You okay, Rodney?" he asked, his voice quiet and still, as if he could hide what was burning inside him in the stillness.

"Yeah, I think I'm crashing. How about you?"

John didn't answer. He held Rodney's gaze until he was satisfied that, being the genius he was, Rodney had a pretty good idea how he was. He slid his hand up the leg of Rodney's pants and watched Rodney's eyelids flutter before catching himself and asking John what he was doing.

The short curly hair tickled John's palm. He looked down and lifted the pant leg. "You can barely see it," he told Rodney, almost disappointed. "I've just got a few more here—"

"I brought the camera," Rodney replied. "Thought this might happen. We'd better go ahead before it's too late." John stood up to get the camera, keeping his back turned until he could tell Rodney had removed his pants and laid back on the bench.

His hands shook as he framed the shots and when he was done, he grabbed their gear and told Rodney he'd wait for him in the hallway.

~~~~

The breeze coming off the water was blessedly cool, with the sound of the waves helping to distract him. It had been hours since he and Rodney had parted ways at the transporter, but John wasn't ready to face his quarters just yet.

Everything about that afternoon held such a grip on him. His eyes were full of the symbols; bleeding through the almost translucent skin, and the bold, black strokes that somehow brought them to life. The scent of Rodney's skin was on the air and that dark musk he'd recognized seemed trapped inside him.

He wasn't sure he'd ever get the feel of Rodney's skin out of his hands, out of his mind.

He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Mischief5 and a special nod to Sabinelagrande


End file.
